Blueblack

I try to spear words with my fingers &

sometimes, just sometimes, it works. They're impaled,

just perfectly,

wriggling my meaning like a thousand tongues

but

other times they slip out of my drunken fingers,

silverfish so beautiful & elusive,
(well, am I lucid enough?)

disappearing

into the blueblack night,
my hands flailing like fallen birds
in their wake.